Mira didn't mean to do it.
She was typing furiously, notes scattered everywhere, when she reached behind her without looking—intending to pull her chair closer. But her hand landed on nothing but air. In her distracted state, she took a step back… and promptly sat right into Jerry Kingston's lap.
"Whoa," Jerry muttered, arms instinctively catching her waist. Mira froze—right there, seated on the strong thighs of her new assistant. The air shifted.
Hot.
Electric.
Deadly quiet.
Mira could feel her heart hammering in her chest, her face going up in flames. She scrambled up as fast as she could, nearly knocking over a water bottle on the desk. "I—I didn't mean to—!"
"You sure?" Jerry smirked lazily, tilting her head and leaning back in the chair. "Because for a second there, it felt like you meant it."
Mira's jaw dropped. "You—!" She turned away, too flustered to form a response.
But the day wasn't over. Not even close.
**
By the end of the workday, Mira was more exhausted from trying not to look at Jerry than from actual work. Every time Jerry leaned forward, her fitted white shirt stretched across her muscular shoulders. When she adjusted her glasses and pushed her dark hair back, Mira had to remind herself to breathe. And the worst part? Jerry didn't even try. She was just effortlessly hot—and Mira hated how much it got to her.
"Let's go," Jerry said, casually tossing her jacket over one arm.
"Go?" Mira blinked. "Where?"
"To your place. Contract clause," Jerry said with a shrug. "Remember? You're a workaholic. Your board doesn't trust you to rest unless someone forces you to."
"You're staying with me?" Mira squeaked.
Jerry leaned close, voice low. "Unless you want me to share your bed too, boss lady."
Mira turned crimson.
**
The elevator ride up to Mira's penthouse was quiet… until the lift jolted mid-floor with a soft clunk.
Stuck.
Mira cursed under her breath and pulled at the control panel. "What is this? Why now?!"
Jerry leaned against the mirrored wall, unfazed. The heat inside the elevator was rising fast—and Mira started to fan her face.
She didn't realize Jerry was peeling off her coat until she turned around. One by one, Jerry loosened her buttons, letting the damp shirt cling to her abs before she shrugged it off, leaving only the tight black tank top hugging her form.
Mira's eyes widened. Her mouth went dry.
Jerry caught her staring. "Something wrong?"
"No," Mira squeaked.
Jerry smirked and slowly rolled her sleeves up. Her biceps flexed casually as she tugged off her gloves next, exposing rough calloused hands. "You look a little red, Miss Mira."
"I'm not."
"You are."
her coat until she turned around. One by one, Jerry loosened her buttons, letting the damp shirt cling to her abs before she shrugged it off, leaving only the tight black tank top hugging her form.
Mira's eyes widened. Her mouth went dry.
Jerry caught her staring. "Something wrong?"
"No," Mira squeaked.
Jerry smirked and slowly rolled her sleeves up. Her biceps flexed casually as she tugged off her gloves next, exposing rough calloused hands. "You look a little red, Miss Mira."
"I'm not."
"You are."
her coat until she turned around. One by one, Jerry loosened her buttons, letting the damp shirt cling to her abs before she shrugged it off, leaving only the tight black tank top hugging her form.
Mira's eyes widened. Her mouth went dry.
Jerry caught her staring. "Something wrong?"
"No," Mira squeaked.
Jerry smirked and slowly rolled her sleeves up. Her biceps flexed casually as she tugged off her gloves next, exposing rough calloused hands. "You look a little red, Miss Mira."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm not!"
But her voice shook, and her gaze dropped to Jerry's mouth. That smug grin only widened.
Then Mira gasped as Jerry took a step forward, closing the distance between them. The elevator was small, and with Jerry's height and presence, Mira suddenly felt tiny. Trapped. Cornered.
"Careful," Jerry said softly. "You're giving me the look people give before they fall in love."
"I am not!" Mira snapped—but it came out breathless.
Just then, the elevator jolted back to life. The doors opened to the penthouse, and Mira practically ran out.
Jerry strolled out after her, laughing under her breath. "You're fun to tease."
Mira glared at her. "I'm your boss."
"Then maybe stop sitting in my lap, boss lady."
Mira turned on her heel and stormed off—but her ears were red the whole time.
And Jerry?
She was already planning her next move.
Mira paced the length of her luxurious penthouse, clutching a glass of water she didn't really need. Every time she thought about what happened in the elevator—the way she sat on Jerry's lap, the feel of those thighs, the smirk, the teasing voice—her face burned.
She had never, in her whole life, been this flustered. She'd handled boardrooms full of cutthroat executives with ease. She'd stared down billionaires and negotiated hostile takeovers. But one tall, masculine assistant with a cocky smirk and annoyingly gorgeous muscles had her shaken.
She jumped when Jerry's voice echoed from the guest room.
"Boss! Where do I put my bags?"
"In the room to the left!" Mira called, trying to sound composed. "That one's yours."
"Only mine?" Jerry teased as she appeared in the hallway, shirt changed into a soft black tank, sweatpants riding low on her hips. "That's cold, Langford."
"Don't call me that," Mira muttered.
"Why not? You called me Kingston earlier today. Seems fair."
"You're infuriating."
Jerry grinned and leaned against the wall, arms folded—those arms.
"You're adorable when you're mad," she said with a lazy wink.
Mira nearly choked on her water. "You—ugh, never mind!"
She turned and stormed toward the kitchen. Jerry followed, footsteps slow and deliberate.
"You cook?" Jerry asked, watching Mira open the fridge.
"I order," she said flatly. "Why? You gonna cook for me, wife-to-be?"
That made Jerry pause. Her smirk faded for a split second as she studied Mira's face. "You remembered that."
Mira looked away. "It's hard to forget a marriage proposal I turned down without even seeing the person's face."
Jerry's voice was quiet. "You didn't want a stranger."
"I didn't want to be forced."
"And now?"
Mira turned to face her—and immediately regretted it. Jerry was so close, her scent fresh and addictive, a towel still tossed over her shoulders from her evening shower. Her dark eyes locked onto Mira's with an intensity that made the world blur.
"I don't know," Mira whispered.
Jerry stepped closer, brushing a stray strand of hair behind Mira's ear. "I think you're starting to want me, Miss Mira."
"I—"
"You looked at me in the elevator like you wanted to tear my shirt off."
"I DID NOT—!"
Jerry chuckled, soft and low, and Mira felt it everywhere.
Before Mira could respond, her phone buzzed. A work notification.
Saved by the bell.
"I need to—um—finish a few reports," she said quickly, backing away.
"Of course," Jerry said with a wink. "I'll be in my room… unless you want to switch to mine."
"Good NIGHT, Jerry!"
She fled to her room, shutting the door with a thud. On the other side, Jerry laughed and whispered to herself, "This is going to be fun."
Meanwhile…
In the privacy of her room, Mira slumped against the door, her heart pounding.
Why did Jerry have to look like that? Why did her voice have to be so smooth, so teasing? And why—why—did Mira's body react so wildly every time she got close?
She pulled her blanket over her head and groaned.
This revenge marriage might just end up breaking her in the best—or worst—way possible.